The Q train was just pulling away from the station so I hopped on the R when it came so I could get back to work in time for my refdesk shift. I figured the local couldn’t really take that much longer, right? Wrong. Took forever, winding around lower Manhattan. Never again. I ate my salad on the train. Sure didn’t need more oil than that, but probably less lemon, and next time I’d dry my fruit better. I forgot nuts. It’s better with nuts. Now we’re all out of kale.

It had been an awkward morning, I ran the race and then O. and K. came to meet me, they had a baseball game to get to and I had a baby shower in the other direction, awkward timing so no lunch proper, just a banana on my way to the party and a piece of cake once I got there. I couldn’t believe K. was so big, that the baby would have to come out of her body somehow.

The day was wall to wall transit including the beach and the upper west side and it was all only going to fit if I ate on the run. So why not a post-race lunch? In my apartment, with the cat, wearing sunglasses.

What I like about a turkey sandwich is that it is automatic, just set it and forget it, bam, there’s lunch. At my desk in my office. Is there any other way?

L. and I are on our third or fourth try at getting this magazine together online. It is so much easier than it used to be! Thank heavens for small miracles. I finished the last of the metadata proofing and uploaded it and was enormously cheered and my foot is actually feeling better I think it’s the ice baths and compression socks and that is making me so happy, happier still with the combination of turkey and cream cheese on a bagel, what a good idea.

I’m lucky. E. and her clan at the chicken sandwich place are all awesome, I am official regular and that comes with lots of lols. Then I came back to the office and K. offered up an extra banana. M. told her I looked like someone who could use it. Considering the four straight meeting hours, my palpable fading, I think they were right.

I know no matter what I do, the first time I take these new shoes out on the town by which I mean wear them to the cloffice my feet will bloom red and blister. Still, I tapped around in them while preparing my lunch, trying to break them in and alarming the cat who didn’t cotton to the noise. I read a short story from Jim Shepard’s new collection while I ate, boy do I like him. As in, In the moonlight he’s just a naked guy, most of his weight on his hands. A good thing to remember when I’m feeling too terribly exceptional.

I had the row to myself so hauled into the window seat and cracked my cello-wrapped airport sandwich, hoping for magic lunch among the clouds. But the guy behind me, drinking jack and cokes and filling in a coloring book of Bible stories, kept kicking the seat back, I was sort of crammed between two windows which meant a lot of leaning and craning, and my view was more wing, less wonder. Sometimes you have to play it as it lays. So I shifted back to the middle, put the seat way back, ate my banana and turned up that Dan Auerbach record, the one that melts me, inside out.

You know what’s hard? Editing is hard. Actually reading things closely and making suggested changes in terms of structure and language, that’s hard. I don’t grade things, but this week I’m beginning to understand why all my friends who do complain about it. My brain is so tired. At this point, I just want all of us to shut up and stop talking. Eating leftover broccoli is no salve.

I never wanted it to come to this, to the moment where everything in my entire world was reduced to the weather, but there it is. Too hot. Nothing but hot. Yogurt sounded cooling, and the part where I could just dump it into a bowl with some fruit and cereal appealing. Still too hot.